


White

by seventhe



Category: Final Fantasy IV
Genre: Gen, Magic Meta, Team Cactuar
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-10-02
Updated: 2011-10-02
Packaged: 2017-10-24 06:19:27
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,395
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/260080
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/seventhe/pseuds/seventhe
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Rydia always thought she'd learn White Magic like her mother.</p>
            </blockquote>





	White

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Stealth_Noodle](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Stealth_Noodle/gifts).



> Chocobo Down for DOINK 2011! Written for the September round of Chocobo Racing~
> 
> Fills two prompts left by Stealth_Noodle:
> 
>  _Stealth_Noodle  
>  (A) Rydia's relationship with any Eidolon. A friend, a mentor, a rival, or something else altogether; one she grew up or one she meets later in canon; having some sort of adventure or just slice-of-life-ing it in the Feymarch. I'm especially fond of the idea of playing her off Leviathan, Asura, or the Mist Dragon, but really I just think that Eidolons are awesome, Rydia is awesome, and Rydia with Eidolons is double awesome. Feel free to incorporate After Years canon if you like!_
> 
>  _(B) Something dealing with Rydia's life among the Summons/Eidolons, preferably while she's growing up, but post-game is fine, too. Bonus points for some explanation of what exactly happened to her white magic. Extra prompts: not like other children, magic lessons, a change in the sky._

Rydia hasn't realized her wandering feet have taken her so far through the palace until they stop before the threshold of Queen Asura's rock garden. She looks up, surprised, although she knows already that she needs Asura's gentle healing more than King Leviathan's sea-deep wisdom – the Queen's crystal garden is a bower few dare to visit, and she doubts herself, as she has been doubting all week. She isn't worthy to walk these paths, shaped by hands more nurturing and feet more delicate than her own.

But Queen Asura extended the invitation to her, and so Rydia gently opens the gate and slips inside. The Queen's sharp eyes and deft fingers carve rocks and shape gemstones, and the room glitters with below-earthly light. Asura has managed to capture the spirit of her people as well as their many forms: there is an intricately detailed sculpture of a bird-like beast, wings outstretched and mouth open so realistically Rydia expects to hear its cry; and she knows it to be Quezacoatl, an alternate form of Ramuh's, because the sharply-glittering topaz it has been carved from looks like the strike of a lightning-bolt. Here the Queen tracks the history of her kingdom, the ever-changing facets of her Eidolons kept whole. There is a library, in the village, where they keep the books of humans Leviathan recovers from the deep, but this is the true record of the Feymarch, writ in glowing stone by the hands of their aeon Queen in a language all monsters know.

Rydia walks the Path of Ice, along which Asura has carved Shiva in all its aspects: Shiva is long-lasting and lovely, like ice, and for centuries has taken the form of a woman, clothed in things the culture of its summoners value and know. In one of her oldest forms, braids tipped with trinkets bloom from her head like petals; in another, she wears only the thin whip of a high ponytail, her face stark and severe. Rydia stops before one of the more simple carvings – an idea, a concept, rather than a completed work: a woman with long pale hair holds aloft a thin blade, in a military pose, the details masterfully blended into the sharp sweep of the quartz crystal. Rydia doesn't dare to touch, but she looks into the face of each Shiva, and wonders which hers will be when – if – she finally learns to summon the Ice Queen.

"Rydia," says Asura, her voice as rich and warm and creamy as sunlight, as fresh milk, as a baby Chocobo. Rydia turns and she is standing there, the Queen of the Eidolons, in her simple robes of white and blue, as if Rydia's thoughts alone have summoned her. She wears her human face. Rydia could bask in her presence forever, because she's Momma and Grandma Jena and Rosa and Mist and something _more,_ and Rydia is so afraid to have disappointed her.

"I'm glad you came," Asura says, and smiles, and it lights up the room in gold and rose. "Do you like my gardens?"

"Very much," Rydia says, although she has no space in her mind for cold barren rocks anymore; her gaze, her attention, her entire being is drawn to Asura's light. The Queen glows with kindness and grace, and it's no more possible for Rydia to pull her eyes away than it is for her to fly.

"Walk with me," says Asura. Rydia could not deny her even if she wanted to, and she doesn't, so she places her hand into Asura's outstretched grasp and walks. They reach the intersection where the Path of Ice meets the Path of the Oceans, and Asura settles to the ground amidst her skirts and pats at a spot for Rydia.

"As lovely as my work may be, I think you are probably here for another reason." The Queen smiles, brilliant with reassurance. "What may I help you with, my daughter?"

She shouldn't be so surprised that the Queen knows, because Asura knows everything: she is sun and stars to the skyless Feymarch; she sees all. "I can't do it," Rydia says, and then looks down into her lap, wringing her fingers together. Asura waits as she collects the words in her head, patient and kind, and Rydia is even more afraid to speak – but she does.

"I don't know what I'm doing wrong, but I can't do it anymore. Last night, my Cure barely even touched Whyt. It's like I'm getting weaker the more I practice. I'm not," and she _isn't_ going to cry – she's eleven, she isn't a little girl any more; "I don't think I'm as strong of a Summoner as you all think I am. The harder I work, the worse I get."

The Queen's eyes flicker, and something catches in Rydia's heart, tugging at a string she barely knows is there, the faint fluttering connection she feels around Chocobo and Shiva and Ramuh, too - she knows Asura is Eidolon, not woman, but it's the first time her bloodline has _answered_ to that knowledge. Her heart is suddenly racing, and her hands fist up around one another.

Asura smiles, then, as if every question in the world has suddenly been answered. "This means you are _more_ powerful of a Summoner than we think, my dear. It means it's time for you to choose – and your blood is already choosing for you."

"Choosing?" Rydia's voice peaks high with panic, and she swallows. "Am I going to lose my magic?" It looms before her, an awful fate: for without her magic, how will she ever earn her Summons?

"Not all of it." Asura shakes her head, the weave of her braids reflecting the light of the stones around them. "We Espers are born of magic, and that is how we speak to our Summoners: through their talents. That is what creates the link between Caller and Summoned. And there comes a point when each true Summoner must abandon some of his or her spells to make the others stronger."

She spreads her hands before her, palms up, long graceful fingers spanning open space. "A Summoner who tries to do everything is spread too thin, and cannot support her Eidolons. She may perhaps summon one, or two, in her lifetime, but she does not have a source of strength to draw from, to connect with the Esper and truly communicate."

One of Asura's hands falls back into her lap, and the other curls in on itself to form a fist. "A Summoner who focuses her powers, however, has a strong base from which to draw her Eidolons forth, and truly command them. Once a Summoner has focused her magical energies, she can tap into that great reservoir to summon even the most powerful of Espers." She raises the fist, shaking her arm out of the ornate sleeve of her gown. "It is the base of that training – that specialization – that allows a Summoner to develop a reservoir so deep."

"But," Rydia ventures, so fascinated by Asura's explanation that she has forgotten her self-consciousness, "my magic is getting weaker, not stronger. How do I make a strong base out of a spell that isn't …strong?"

Asura looks at her for a moment, her lips curved in a thoughtful smile. "Normally, when a Summoner turns thirteen, he or she chooses a path: either White Magic, or Black Magic. But sometimes when the Summoner is very powerful, the choice comes to her early." Her lips quirk a little, as if she is beautifully, beatifically amused. "And usually what happens is the Summoner's talents choose for her. She starts to lose strength in the magical path she isn't as suited for, as her talent in the other begins to grow."

"But I," Rydia says, even as it dawns on her, what Asura really means – and for a moment her heart feels shriveled, shrunken, cold as the carving of Shiva as Lady Knight, because she was going to be a White Mage like her mother – like Rosa, like Asura – because it was what she'd wanted to be since _forever._ So that she could Summon _and_ heal. So that she could protect Cecil, protect her village, defend herself. Rydia's throat tightens; her eyes sting.

Asura drops her fist, fingers uncurling, and her hand comes to rest on Rydia's. "I know your mother was a White Mage," she says. "And Sarah had a great gift for it. Many Summoners choose the path of White Magic, to better protect their Summons and themselves. It is for many a...” She takes a breath. “A safer path to walk."

There is a pause, as if the Queen is being careful about her words. "If you choose to follow her path, to honor her as such, you can learn the White Magic you desire, and become the new Guardian of Mist Village. Your magic is strong, and it will not stop you from your heart's choice."

"Is that what you think I should do?" The question is torn from her before she can think about it – but she trusts Asura, even if she is Eidolon, and Queen of this place. Rydia glances up, and Asura's face has become very still, as if she too is a statue, carved of pearl and ivory.

"I think," Asura begins, very slowly, and then stops. Her eyes refocus, her gaze dropping to Rydia's, and it suddenly feels like they've both been staring at worlds and centuries.

"For years we Eidolons have kept to a way of peace," Asura says, her eyes both distant and very, very, present. "We have defended our Summoners, and they in turn have defended us with their White Magic. And in our selfishness, we have thought that was all we needed for our races to survive. But... peace was not enough to protect the Village of Mist. Defense is no longer our answer."

Her eyes sharpen upon Rydia's, and suddenly it is a different Asura: still pearl and golden and gleaming, but fierce in her glory, stark shadows beneath her eyes. "And then we are given a Summoner who is keyed to the elements, a Summoner who would wield Black Magic… a last Caller who may be powerful enough to Summon us all. A warrior for the Feymarch. One who can confront the evil before it reaches our shores. A weapon, not a shield."

This Queen’s voice is stern and severe, beautiful and terrifying, and Rydia feels her heart pounding in recognition and answer: there’s that tug again, the flutter of recognition turned bright and keen-edged like a dagger, the snap of something like her Caller’s whip.

Her breath catches in her throat but before she can say anything something _twists,_ a trick of the air, and it is as if Asura's gentle face slips over the cruel shadows, tucking away the sharp brightness. "Child," Asura says, and her voice is made of roses. She tucks a strand of Rydia's hair away behind her ear. "It is not often that we get to listen to our magic so clearly – not even we Espers, who are born of it, hear messages this plain. I think you need to do what your heart tells you. For you, your heart and your magic are one."

Rydia's heart aches. She looks down at her hands, clutching each other in her lap. She thinks about White Magic – about being the healer of Mist, like her mother, and only summoning the Mist Dragon for ceremonies and in times of danger. It had been what she'd wanted for herself – but the Village of Mist had become a village of ash, locked away by Titan's avalanche. And she has become… she is no longer Lady Sarah's child, Lady Sarah's heir; she isn't the daughter of the Guardian. She is Rydia, of Mist _and_ of the Feymarch, and she has lived here under the ground with her Eidolons almost as long as she'd lived on its surface with her townspeople. She'd fought with Cecil, protected Edward, stood side-by-side with Rosa, all when she was a _little girl_.

She looks up at Asura and isn't sure of what she feels. The monsters of the Feymarch call their Queen the Lady of Faces; they say Asura carries her facets within her, healer and warrior and life-giver, as varied as the incarnations of Shiva. Rydia is surprised to find she is not afraid of Asura’s darker face; it feels, in fact, almost familiar. Not everything black is evil; her Queen cuts like a blade and is still more beautiful and graceful and good than anything Rydia has ever met in her life.

She cannot return to Mist, because it will not be the same. And she cannot hide behind her village walls when her friends intend to fight evil at its source. If she can fight too, she wishes to do so – and Rydia realizes that perhaps she _has_ already chosen.

"I," she begins, and it comes out in a rush. "I don't know that I want to be a weapon, but… I don't think I'll be happy being just a shield." And then she adds, because it feels important: "I'm not afraid to cast Fire any more."

"Then follow your magic," Asura says, and the smile she bestows upon Rydia is cool rain and warm blankets and a million candles flickering. "Your mother would be so very proud."

Rydia thinks about Cecil, protecting her from Baron's soldiers so long ago. And she looks about herself, in the crystalline garden of the Feymarch Queen, and knows instinctively that there are many ways to protect the ones she loves, the things she considers dear, and the memories she holds onto. There are many sides to everything – the evil Baron soldier, the good Baron knight; Asura light and Asura dark – and it seems that she's meant to follow the path of fire and ice. She smiles, because it feels right.

"Will you walk with me?" asks the Queen, and Rydia wants nothing more. "I have been working on the Path of Earth, if you want to see."

"I'd love to," Rydia says, climbing to her feet with none of Asura's gentle grace, and not caring. She feels settled, still glowing with Asura's compliments and regard. And for the first time in weeks, she truly feels like her feet are walking a path that is her own.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to Lassarina, Vrazdova, and Justira for beta/readover :)


End file.
